Blood of the Wicked
by indubitably-oblivious
Summary: So what happened after the Yakavetta trial? On a hasty trip to a convenient store for some cigarettes before fleeing Boston maybe for good, the twins meet a mysterious girl in one unexpected situation. Please review! Chapters 5 has arrived! Murphy/OC
1. Silencers and Secrecy

**A/N:**

**Gargantuan thanks to my fantastic beta reader, Kristen, for editing the crap out of this, and seeing its potential. It's becoming better with every single suggestion ^.^ **

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"Where the flyin' fuck do ye think yer goin'? It's almost fuckin' one in the mornin'," mumbled Murphy. He sat up from the motel bed and rubbed his eyes angrily. He was never one to wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed, no matter what time it was.

"I need a fuckin' smoke and I'm all out, go back ta fuckin' bed. Greenley 'n Smecker are goin' ta be here at 3:00. And would ye mind keepin' yer voice the fuck down? Yer goin' ta wake Da," Connor whispered angrily.

"Well, thanks ta ye, I'm already awake, and I'm fuckin' comin with ye. Let me put on some damn clothes."

"Well let's 'ave our little chat outside, eh? If Da's half as bad as ye are 'bout wakin' up, I sure as hell am not stickin' the fuck around," Connor said angrily, as he walked towards the aged door, opened it, and ushered his brother outside in an impatient manner.

It had been almost nine hours since the three Saints executed Yakavetta in the courtroom. The media was in frenzy; their somewhat accurate profile sketches were all over the Boston news. No doubt the police were on a rampage after them. The plan was simple: Dolly, Duffy, Greenley and of course, Smecker had snuck the trio across town to an almost unnoticeable motel. It was a fleabag shit hole, but they would only be staying for about twelve hours.

Connor recalled the conversation he had with Smecker on the hour drive to the motel:

"Greenley and I are picking you three up from that place at exactly 3:00 in the morning."

"An' then where do ye plan on takin' us?"

"There's a town about two and a half hours away from Boston, all the way across the fucking state, it has less than five hundred people. Thought you three could lay low there for a while. At least until this man hunt for you calms down."

"_An' how fuckin' long is 'a while', here Smecker?"_

"_Not more than a month. It's necessary. I've managed to set you up with a private telephone line and residence for the time being. If the media calms down, you might be able to return to Boston then."_

"_An' if tha' don't work?"_

"_Well, maybe it'll be to some other Podunk town, out of Massachusetts. Maybe you three will have to flee back to where the grass is always fucking green, I just don't know."_

"_Ireland? You are fuckin' sayin' that if this shit doesn't cool down in a fuckin' month, we're headin' back to Ireland?"_

"_Like I said, Connor; I don't know."_

Connor snapped out of his frustrating flashback and shook his head in exhaustion. He had an earsplitting headache and he just needed a damn cigarette.

"Should we take our guns wit' us?" Connor suggested, contemplating just leaving them there for the maybe fifteen-minute trip.

"Not the Berettas with the silencers we used on every damned scum bag we killed. Too conspicuous. Let's jus' take Da's for now," Murphy said, trying to think logically.

"The PT92's? The stainless ones?"

"Aye, those are th' ones. The nine millimeters," Murphy said, nodding.

"Murph, those are way fuckin' louder than the Berettas," reasoned Connor.

"All I'm tryin' to fuckin' say is that they are smaller than those Beretta's we shot Yakavetta wit an' all tha'. A gun's a gun, Conn."

"But they are louder." Connor was getting aggravated now. This would've just been a solo trip, but now it just feels like he's arguing with a hypothetical wife about what shade of paint to put on a hypothetical wall.

"Well are ye fuckin' planning on shootin' some motherfucker on our way to the gas station?" Murphy raised his voice a little.

"Fuckin' tell ye what. I'll take one, you take th' other," said Connor.

"Fine."

Connor opened the motel door again and put down the doorstop. He grabbed a Beretta from the table adjacent to the door, and slightly tiptoed across the room to obtain one of his father's pistols. He then walked outside again, and closed the door, satisfied that he had not even stirred Noah from his sleep.

"Alright Murph, let's go," Connor said as he slid the gun in the holster inside of his black pea coat.

"Aye," said Murph, taking the silver gun and put it barrel side down in the side of his jeans.

"So d' ye have a semblance of an idea of how to get ta a gas station? I was jus' thinkin' of goin' back behind this here motel, and there should be an alley, er somethin' like tha'." Connor suggested.

"I'm thinkin' down this main road here," Murphy said with utter confidence, nodding to the left where there was a deserted bus stop and a busy street.

"Ye sure there, Murph? Kind of fuckin' obvious and out in th' open if we just stroll down the street," said Connor, raising a doubtful eyebrow at his brother, who clearly wasn't thinking very logically.

"Well I fuckin' know I have a better mental map than you! Who got us lost in those fuckin' air vents in Copley Plaza?"

"Oi! Ye shut it! That plan was a fuckin' success! We're takin' the alley, fer fuck's sakes," Connor said, giving Murphy a good slap to the side of his head.

"Fuckin' A!" Murphy growled, following Connor to the left while passing a couple of chipped and beaten down cars in the tiny parking lot.

The brothers walked side by side on the very slight gravel trail behind the motel when they came across the alley that Connor had predicted would be there. They took a left where on one side of the asphalt was a chain link fence, and on the other, broken down apartment buildings and houses that couldn't have had more than ten feet of space in between them.

"Well would ye look at tha'? A gas station! Admit it, I was right!" said Connor jubilantly with a slight bragging tone, pointing towards the bright-lit buildings that were ahead of them.

"Shut it ye dumb wop," said Murphy with a small smile and a roll of his eyes.

Connor and Murphy had just passed a run-down building with an alley of its own, when they heard a brewing argument coming from it.

"Jus' keep walking Con…" Murphy mumbled quietly.

Connor nodded in agreement, but halted when he heard a voice, a girl's voice. It didn't sound like a run of the mill conversation either. It sounded like it was escalating; it wasn't going to end pretty either way.

"Please, just leave me alone_,_" she said quietly in a neutral tone.

"Hold the fuck on. There 's a lass," Connor insisted.

They crouched on the east side of the building, out of sight of the three arguing people. Murphy poked his head just enough around the corner to see what was going on in his peripheral vision. There were two gargantuan looking men, closing in on a tiny girl. From this angle, she didn't look much older than maybe seventeen or eighteen. She probably wasn't even that old. The dim porch light on one side of the worn building showed the three slightly shadowed figures and their faces, but just barely.

"Murph! What the fuck is goin' on?" whispered Connor.

"Conn, we need ta get in there as soon as they aren't lookin'," said Murphy.

The men were at her one o' clock and eleven o' clock positions, crowding in more as they closed in.

The girl, who had a look of disdain on hatred for the men in front of her, drew her mouth into a hard line. "Téigh trasna ort féin. _Go Fuck Yourself,_" she said coldly.

Murphy raised his eyebrows at his brother. It was Gaelic.

"What the fuck did you just say to us, you little bitch?" the one on the right yelled in her face, as he pulled out a switchblade and shoved it threateningly close to her throat. His Russian accent was heavy as he threatened the girl.

"Well little one, it looks like your time is up. Maybe it'll teach you to not go rudely prying for information," said the one on the left with a menacing tone.

Simultaneously, the boys bolted up from their crouching positions and ran out from behind the corner, shooting the men in their heads before they even had a chance to see that the Saints of south Boston were about to have them meet their maker.

The attackers dropped to the ground almost instantly after being shot, leaving the girl they had, standing stunned against the wall, trembling. After crossing themselves, the boys cautiously walked towards her, arms slightly up in the air, as if trying to let her know that they weren't going to harm her.

"Are ye alrigh' lass? Are ye hurt?" said Connor, edging closer, offering his hand.

She waited several moments before abruptly nodding her head and uttering a soft "I'm fine."

"Maybe ye should come back with us so we can check on ye?" Murphy asked.

"No, thank you," she muttered, cracking her knuckles.

"How old are ye, love? Wha's yer name and all of tha'?" said Connor.

"Just…Eva? I'm nineteen. Thank you…for saving my life," she said with short pauses.

"Eva? Well, that's a nice name ye have," said Connor.

"Shite, you're nineteen?" said Murphy, shaking his head trying to see if he heard correctly.

"Yes. Um, I'd better get going. Thank you, gentlemen," she said with a quick nod and a faint smile, as she began to walk away, black boots clicking down the alleyway.

"Lass, let us just walk ye home, it'd make us feel better," said Connor.

She turned around abruptly and took a few steps back towards them, untying the front belt of her trench coat.

The brothers raised a questioning eyebrow, once they realized what was on the inside of the jacket. Six Beretta pistols, three on each side, were holstered to fit.

"Boys, I'll be fine. I've been doing this for a while, as have you. Please don't worry about me, there's a gas station just up ahead, presuming that's where you were walking to. Have a good night," she finally said with another small smile.

"Oh, and before I forget," she remarked, pointing to Murphy's gun. "That nine millimeter was pretty loud. Assuming anybody around here heard it, the cops will be here in about seven minutes, but that's just a rough estimate. Better make a quick trip," she said with a slight smirk before she turned around and walked away again.

Connor and Murphy stood stunned in the middle of the alley, watching the young girl walk and turn the corner.

"Okay, now I _really_ need a fuckin' cigarette," said Murphy, scratching his head.

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**A/N:**

** If you have a quick second, give me a review! I will love you forever!**


	2. More Questions Than Answers

**A/N:**

**I know it has been WAY too long since I've updated. My sincere apologies! Junior year is turning out to be one of the most exhausting things I have ever experienced. And it only gets better, they say. Decided that I am going to throw in the towel with diving and start looking for a job, and that's turning out to be going really well. Had my very first interview today at a local restaurant, and I have high hopes. Anywho, I'll stop rambling. This is a relatively short chapter, but in any case, I hope it's to everyone's liking. So without further ado, I give you Chapter 2!  


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The brothers stared at each other in utter confusion.

"Well, I believe cigarettes are outta the question. Let's get the fuck back to the motel, Murph," said Connor, motioning with his hand for Murphy to snap back out of his daze.

"Oh, calm down. Do ye really think the cops give a shite about an alley shooting when they _should_ be out lookin' for us? Let's at least find some stuff out about the girl, aye?"

"Have ye not heard the sayin' 'curiosity killed the cat?'" asked Connor, angrily.

"Well, I guess it was a noble fuckin' cat then! Come on, Conn, don't tell me ye aren't wantin' to find somethin' out about her."

"Jaysus. Ten fuckin' minutes, if that even. And what are you expecting to find anyway? Her fuckin' birth certificate?" said Connor, rubbing his temples, well knowing that it was a bad idea.

"Smart ass," Murphy remarked with a smirk. "She said seven minutes give or take; I don't see what the issue is here. What about a poster, or somethin' like that? Dunno really," said Murphy, holding up a naïve shrug, complete with a tilt of his head.

"Let's just go, ya fuckin' retard," said Connor, walking back from the entrance of the alley.

"Alright, calm the fu—," Murphy paused and jogged back to the side of one of the Russian's bodies.

"Murph, what the hell?" said Connor.

"Russian pagers always seemed to work out before, aye? Maybe he has one, or a phone," Murphy said, with ever confidently raised eyebrows and another famous smirk.

"Fuckin' A! Why didn't I think of that?" said Connor.

Murphy pulled a rather expensive looking cell phone out of the Russian's right pocket.

"Bingo," he said, flipping open the piece of plastic.

"Well, what is it then?" asked Connor anxiously.

"A couple of missed calls and a voicemail. Probably from his fuckin' boss," said Murphy, shaking his head. He put the phone to his ear and listened closely to the thick Russian tongue that left the message two hours previously:

"_Yuri, you were supposed to meet me two hours ago. Where the fuck are you, you stupid bastard? I was calling to make sure you weren't acting foolish and watching out for those Saints. Also, there's apparently another little vigilante slut lurking in Boston somewhere. Find her, and bring her to me. It's almost 1:30 in the morning, dammit. Be here by then, or I will shoot you in your goddamn head."_

Murphy closed the phone and gaped at Connor.

"Holy fuckin' shit…" trailed off Murphy.

"Will ye just tell me what it said for Christ's fuckin' sakes?"

"Well, all the commie basically said was that there's another vigilante lurking in Boston. It's her. It has to be," said Murphy, trying to convince himself if what he was saying was even somewhat plausible.

"The little teenager? You're outta yer fuckin' head. She's what? Sixteen? Seventeen _maybe?_ She can't be a vigilante, that's crazy talk," said Connor.

"You saw her fuckin' pistols, Conn! I hardly call that any normal teenage ensemble. She even said she's been '_doing this for a while'_," said Murphy.

"Did he say how long she was in town or anythin'? Anythin' at all? A name even?" asked Connor.

"Nope. All he said was that there's another vigilante _slut_ in Boston, and that he wants her fuckin' captured," said Murphy, apparent venom in his tone.

"Well fuck! All we know is that her name is Eva, and I doubt that's even it! What now then Murph?"

"You said ten minutes, righ'?"

"Aye," said Connor, with a nod.

"Well we got another seven to find this girl before she gets trapped in another fuckin' alley, and we're not there."

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**A/N:**

**Hope this was a satisfactory little chapter. I have loads of ideas for chapter 3. As always, you can contact me through email and keep updated on my story's status via my fanfiction profile. Oh, and please review! They make my day and put a big smile on my face :)**


	3. Realizations

**A/N:**

**It's been far too long, I know. It's coming up on a year since I've published chapter 1. Very sad. Well, I'm back for the summer, and I'll try and get this ball rolling again. I have a plot lined out and I will definitely try to update in shorter increments from now on. All and any explanations should be given in the next chapter if you're confused. I give you chapter 3. :)**

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Aoife walked down the Boston street, knee-high black boots clicking, with her mind and heart racing. Sure, it was fucking idiotic what she did. Walking up to a Russian with absolutely no weapons wielded whatsoever, and demanding where the head boss was. She could have easily died, leaving her father forever wondering what happened, their master plan ruined, her body to be disposed of in some horrific way. It's not as if she was ungrateful, of course she was thankful for the fortunate turn of events. But, if anything, she hated being a damsel in distress. She despised the entire concept of some knight in shining armor coming and saving some stupid girl in a magical castle.

"_I must've sounded like a stupid fucking pansy in that alley,"_ she thought to herself, shaking off all of the bad events she was trying to repress in her memory.

Even then, still hovering in her conscience were the men that saved her. Irish, gun-wielding, and friendly, considering the circumstances they had met under. She figured they couldn't have been more than coincidental; men walking by who just so happened to be quick and skillful with a few pistols. It was naïve to be thinking that way, but it didn't matter. She quickly cast the thought away and continued walking.

The usual ten-minute walk easily turned into five minutes or less with a rapid pace. Once she arrived, she quietly stepped in the dark doorway of the seemingly abandoned warehouse, her footsteps echoed as she approached the iron-wrought stairs. She stood on the balls of her feet even more, so she could sprint up them without her three-inch heel getting stuck…again. She found it ironic that she still managed to keep some rather ungraceful tendencies despite everything she was doing on the side.

Aoife took out the key chain she had in her pocket and unlocked the door with one of her three keys, revealing the everyday site of her five thousand square foot warehouse loft. Her father came around the corner, obviously anticipating her arrival and embraced her in a warm hug.

"_Salut…"_she said, finally taking in the first sigh of relief of the day. She walked over to the large sofa, and took off her trench coat with her pistols and laid them aside, as if they were common things, like a purse or a top hat. "So? How did things go?" asked her father casually. "How about I just say they went _well_, and leave no questions asked?"

"You know that's not going to slide, Aoife," her father said with crossed arms and a smirk.

"Alright, fine. The Russian peons? Well, they provided hardly any useful information, as expected. And yes, they're dead. But the complication comes in when I say…I didn't kill them," she said with a sigh before she began to pace back and forth.

"You're right, I shouldn't have asked. But one more thing, you're okay, right?" he said.

"Yes, I'm fine. Really," she said with a small smile.

"Well, why don't you just sit and relax for a bit, we'll see what we can do tomorrow," he said, squeezing her shoulder and walking up to the second floor of the loft.

Aoife flipped on the television, hoping it would provide substantial background noise for her to doze off to. She channel surfed for a few minutes when she decided that the news would be mundane enough, it was just a re-run of the earlier six 'o clock news anyway. She half-listened to the head anchor drone on about the inflating gas prices and rising crime rate, same old song and story. She closed her eyes and listened, hoping to be asleep within a few minutes.

"_And now we return to local news. Earlier today, Mafia Don __Giuseppe Yakavetta was executed during his court trial by three mysterious men who have been dubbed by the media as 'The Saints.' They are the targets of the largest manhunt in Boston history. Their location is unknown. The little information we do have states that they are armed and dangerous, all approximately six feet tall. Here are some artist sketches that resemble the men."_

Aoife slightly opened her eyes with vague interest.

Three pictures of the "killers" appeared on the screen, with a phone number to call if any information was known.

The first was of an old man with an abundance of facial hair. He looked almost religiously symbolic in the way the artist portrayed him.

The second was of a man who was significantly younger than the first. He had light and spiked hair with a dark brow line.

The third caricature was the most amusing to Aoife. She chuckled at just how inaccurate the drawing probably was if it was ever to be compared to the actual man. His hair was dark and slicked forward, his jaw was profoundly square, and his entire face just seemed a little "off."

She looked closely again just before shutting her eyes.

"No…fucking…way," she whispered in disbelief. She shot up from the couch in pure shock.

"Dad!" she shouted.

He quickly walked out of his room and leaned over the banister.

"Yes?" he said with exaggerated question.

"The Saints. Those were the men in the alley…they shot those peons. What should we do?" she asked, frantically pointing at the television.

" It's absolutely imperative that we find them. If they get caught, we're potentially exposed. If they say a word about us, and then our entire goal here is shot to shambles. Can you find them again?" he said.

"For God's sakes, I honestly don't know. They could be on a damn boat right now fleeing far away from here."

"I know you, you can find a needle in a haystack," he said walking down the stairs, putting on a light black jacket. "Let's go."

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**A/N:**

**Please review! They make me happy and help me update faster. ****Hope you liked it!**


	4. Connecting the Dots

**A/N:**

**Woah, lookie here. Two updates in less than a week. I wrote this on a whim, more or less as a filler chapter with some details here and there. Sorry for any grammar mistakes (or just mistakes in general), I wanted to update as soon as humanly possible, but not make this chapter complete shit. Review pretty please?**

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"Alright Conn, let's just get back to the motel. We've been lookin' around too long," said Murph in a defeated tone.

"Are ye sure, Murph?"

"I don't honestly see what other options we have, I mean…" he said, trailing off with his hand ruffling his hair. "She's got to be safe now, righ'?"

"I would think so, aye," said Connor, with a slight nod of agreement.

They started heading back through the alley, confused and cigarette-less. Connor took the key out of his pocket, and attempted to quietly re-enter the motel with Murphy behind him, but to no avail. Noah was sitting in the armchair with the dimly lit lamp next to him, expressionless and with crossed arms.

Murphy tried to hesitate a reminiscing chuckle amid all of the tension. It was as if he was seventeen years old again, sneaking into the house at some ungodly hour with one of his girlfriends at the time. Ma would sit with the exact same countenance, and shake her head with that same look of sheer disappointment. It was slightly amusing, to him at least.

"Da…," was all Connor could manage to mutter.

"Nice of ye sorry bastards to come back. The fuck is wrong with you two?" said Noah, trying to retain some control of the volume in his voice.

"Cigarette run went a wee bit unexpected," said Murphy, trying to avert his gaze to anything else in the room but his father.

"You mean to tell me tha' you two snuck out in the middle of the fuckin' night, while we're being the focus of a manhunt, to get bloody _cigarettes_?" said Noah, anger growing more evident with every word.

"Suppose tha' about sums it up," said Connor with a nervous chuckle.

"Ye are a sure a bunch of fuckin' eejits," muttered Noah, still with tints of anger. "So? Finish yer story then. What was so unexpected?"

"There was a girl—," started Connor.

"Oh, here we fuckin' go," said Noah, putting a hand to his forehead.

"Oi, just listen, will ya?" said Murphy, walking over to the bed on the right and sitting on the edge.

"There was a girl, young too. Couldn't have been more than seventeen er so, but she told us she was nineteen, which could or couldn't be true," Connor looked to Murphy to continue where he'd left off.

"Long story short, we had to shoot a couple of guys that were attackin' her. She walked off afterwards, but told us tha' her name is Eva. She had guns, Da, six of em'. Fittin' righ' in her jacket," said Murphy.

All Noah did was nod pensively, and wait for them to finish.

"We think she's one of us, we're pretty sure of it actually. Checked one of the fuckers' phones, and well, suppose there's another vigilante here in Boston, it's her. It has to be," said Connor.

"Sure sounds like it. Ye think Smecker has anythin' on her?" interjected Noah.

"Even if he did, what would we tell him? We don' even know her full name. 'Eva' could just be an alias, or somethin' like that," said Murphy, biting his thumb.

"Worth a shot though," said Connor.

"Well what are ya boys tryin' to accomplish here?" asked Noah pessimistically.

The twins looked at each other in bewilderment. They didn't really know. More than anything she was a brief fascination, but maybe she had answers.

"I jus' want to know who she _is_," said Connor with a straight face.

"If she's like us, it can't be just her alone. We could stay in Boston, in this town, and do what the Lord meant for us to do," said Murphy, trying to process his stream of thoughts.

"Tha' sounds like a slim hope. All on chance, over a girl, who ye don' even know shite about," he said argumentatively.

The room was silent for a moment, it was broken when the phone started to ring, making all of them jump slightly. It seemed like that's how all of their conversations were since the reunion, thick tension, aggravated yelling, awkward silence, repeat.

Murphy, who was closest to the phone, answered on the second ring.

"Hello?" he said, trying to desperately cover up his accent to whoever was on the receiving end of the call.

"Murph, it's Smecker. Nice try though on trying to hide that accent of yours."

"What is it?"

"Well, I got a question for you three."

"Aye?"

"Why the hell are you two out still killing mafia when you should be hiding?"

Murphy's stomach dropped.

"You still there, Macmanus?"

"Aye…"

"Thought I told you guys to lay low, what the fuck is up? Why is the station down here getting calls about mafia knock-offs in a different county?"

"Who called it in?"

"The lazy fuck cops up where you guys are. I know you two are involved. Don't deny it. Who else at two in the morning? _Hours_ before we start the escape plan, less than two miles away from the motel you are staying at?"

"There _was_ someone else, Smecker."

"Don't pull that bullshit, ar—"

"I'm serious."

"Start talkin', Irish boy."

"Do you have records, any at all, in the past week, month, year, whatever the fuck, of any more acts of vigilantism?"

"Let me check…besides you guys, not many."

"Well, what are the few?"

"Looks like there are seven scattered about hits. Russian and Italian mafia. All fatal gunshot wounds. Mostly underbosses and peons. Hardly publicized because well, they are mafia hits. No in-depth investigation. They look like mafia hits anyway, we figured that's what they were."

"They aren't."

"Care to elaborate?"

"The two guys up here? Yes, Connor and I killed them. But, they were after a girl. She, and someone else, maybe a couple of others, are most likely the actual killers. I don—"

There was a knock on the motel door.

"Hold on, Smecker," said Murphy, quietly putting the phone on the table.

Connor and Murphy pulled out the guns that they already had loaded from the cigarette-running errand. Noah pulled a pistol out from the drawer on the bedside table. Connor inched up towards the door, making sure to not make any swift or sudden movement. He looked through the peephole, and there she was. "Eva" and a tall, slim man were exchanging words outside.

As a precaution, Connor signaled Murph and their father to be ready. He opened the door quickly, and within mere seconds, all five of them had guns wielded. They all stood silently, motionless as statues, eyes shifting from one to another.

Murphy looked into Eva's dark eyes, and they were cold as ice.

"Somebody needs to start talking," she said, leering at the Macmanus men.

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**A/N:**

**And the drama continues :) Need to find some inspiration and get rid of my looming writer's block. Help me out! I'm begging for reviews here. Debating on whether to keep going with this story or not.**


	5. Like Father Like Daughter

**A/N: Hello hello! I wrote this chapter on a whim in attempt to see if I can get this story going again. You all have been so patient, and even though so many months have passed, I'm still surprised at the amount of traffic this little story of mine has been getting. So thank you to all of you wonderful people for telling me not to leave it hanging. I worked non-stop on it for a few hours and did some minor proofreading, but that's it in regards to any errors. I'll try and work on this one a little more consistently as far as publishing goes. I give you chapter 5! **

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The seconds that passed seemed like hours.

"I don't need tah tell ya shite, ya little heathen," Noah barked angrily at the teenager. He knew this wasn't just a sweet and innocent girl. She was armed and dangerous, and he could tell that the man standing next to her was just as, if not more so.

This wasn't Noah's first rodeo, after all. How many times guns had been held to his head, he would never have an accurate account. He learned over time to keep calm, but after all the shit that occurred just earlier in the day, his nerve was wearing thin. And, his patience for intruders was thinner.

"Da, fucking don't," Murphy whispered, his eyes locked on the girl who barged into their motel room.

And in a split second, two cold pistol barrels were placed Noah's forehead, unquestionably loaded with ammo.

"Look here, _pops_. I'm going to ask you fuckers one more time. Who are you, and what the hell are you doing here," Aoife cracked sharply.

Connor and Murphy's eyes widened.

"D'ye hear me? Don't shoot th' man. You want to talk to us," Murphy pleaded with the two people with his father's life in their hands.

Time stopped once again when there was a light _honking_ sort of noise. It was the phone, hanging off the edge of the table, no one on the other end.

"Fuck…Smecker," Connor muttered.

"Someone on the phone?" Aoife contended, getting impatient that this hold up wasn't necessarily _holding_ any of these men up.

"Watch yerself, lass," Noah warned. "Those who grow arrogant are usually th' ones to die first."

She raised her eyebrow questioningly. "Yeah, I'll make sure and remember that," she retorted.

"Everyone, lower your guns," commanded the man who had been utterly silent up until now. "You," as he pointed to Murphy, "The phone, hang it up. Unplug it from the wall."

"Ye don' understand, we do tha' and the cops will be here, right fuckin' here in minutes. That I can promise," affirmed Connor.

"You ought tah be th' ones lowering yer fuckin' guns or Smecker will hunt you motherfuckers down," countered Murphy, temper resembling his father's in the most uncanny way.

"Smecker? As in Paul fucking Smecker, FBI detective?" Aoife questioned. She nodded at the man, and they both lowered their pistols away from Noah's head. The boys breathed a sigh of relief as Noah continued to stand, statuesque and with no expression in his aging face.

"Tha's the one," Connor retorted, beginning to think that they had the upper hand now.

"Well, that changes things," the girl said seemingly to herself, cracking a smile, of all expressions.

"Will somebody fer th' love of Jesus tell me what the flyin' fuck is goin' on here?" exclaimed a rattled, and very confused Connor.

"So the targets of Boston's biggest manhunt are being snuck around the city _by _the fucking FBI? Do you not realize how this is gold?" she remarked, again with a smirk on her face.

"If ye know who we are, then why don't we know who you two are?" retorted Murphy, who had just about as many questions as his twin brother, whose mouth was hanging open either in disbelief, confusion, or absolute loss for words.

"Because you boys have a terrible habit of not cleaning up your messes, which would be my first guess. You think the oh so acclaimed and feared 'Saints of South Boston' were the first to start taking out mafia in this town? _Sacre Merde. _I thought you three wouldn't be so naïve," the girl chortled.

"My daughter and I have been running through the families and workers of the Russians and Italians for years, completely under the radar," said the man, being the first to step into the stuffy motel room.

Aoife followed her father inside, gently pulling the screen door closed, and shutting main door behind her.

The three Macmanus men merely stepped back, sure that the worst of the situation was over. They all took a few drawn out seconds to look at each other, to feel the tension, to catch the eye contact.

The girl and her father were really quite the duo to look at. Plain and simple, they looked like the assassins you see in James Bond movies. Leather clad and cracking slightly evil smiles, and they still somehow managed to spark a sense of "Damn," in the Macmanus brothers. These weren't your ordinary killers. They were professionals, knowing the tricks of the trade even your top mafia dons couldn't even muddle around in their heads.

Definitely European when it came down to facial structure. Sharp jawlines, clear complexions, dark hair and dark eyes. The man was about 6'2", towering over his daughter who couldn't have been taller than five feet with her heels off.

The girl fidgeted with her hands, popping her knuckles in a repeated pattern, almost compulsively. Murphy watched as her eyes shifted all over the room.

She finally decided to break the silence.

"From the looks of it, I think some introductions are in order," Aoife insisted, eye contact shifting from Noah, to Connor, to Murphy.

"I think it's only fair tha' you two are gonna be goin' first when it comes to introductions," proclaimed Noah, expression finally returning to his face.

"Fine by me," the father commented. "I'll start."


End file.
